


Easy Like Sunday Morning

by silentdescant



Category: Magic City, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Massage, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is confused about why the owner of a hotel like the Miramar Playa would hire a prostitute that makes his living on the street, and then refuse to have sex with him. Ike explains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Day three of my fic-a-day challenge! I haven't read (or even _seen_ ) any Magic City fic, but I've been craving some. I've also been craving more Jensen/JDM fic. This turned out to be a mash-up of those desires. Fulfills the "prostitution/sex work" square on my kink_bingo card!

It wasn't the weirdest job Jensen had ever taken, but he did find it the most intriguing. Mr. Evans lay before him on the cushioned table, arms crossed beneath his chin and nude but for the towel draped over his ass. He was a regular client; Jensen knew to wait for permission.

"Come closer," Evans murmured. Jensen obeyed, and Evans reached out with one hand to trace the cut of Jensen's hip. He wasn't naked, not yet, but his boxers hung low enough for Evans to explore. He tucked the tip of his index finger into the elastic band and just rested there.

"Sir?" Jensen prompted.

"Touch me," Evans replied.

"Should I--"

"Not yet."

Jensen poured a healthy dollop of oil onto his palm and rubbed his hands together. The scent of bergamot quickly filled the room as Jensen started to spread the oil over Mr. Evans' back. The man sighed under him and closed his eyes.

His back and neck were knotted with tension, so Jensen focused his efforts there and tried to relieve what must surely be several days' worth of ache. He wasn't a masseuse, but he'd been seeing Evans regularly for almost a year now, and Jensen had at least learned how to please him. It was the easiest money Jensen ever got.

Ike Evans was generous, to say the least, but he ran a massive beachside resort. He had people under his employ who were trained in this, in relieving tension and working soreness out of muscles. He even had prostitutes that practically lived in his cabanas, hookers of a much higher class than Jensen, pretty young girls and a few baby-faced boys at the beck and call of the hotel's guests. Jensen didn't understand why Evans asked for _him_ , again and again.

They'd fucked, a few times. It had happened during their first handful of times together; less often now that Jensen knew what his client wanted. Evans only ever asked for a massage. Anything beyond that was up to Jensen. He still offered, every time. He needed to feel like he was earning his significant pay. But it had been _months_ since Evans had last given in.

Evans groaned as Jensen worked through one of the knots. He was so tense; Jensen wondered what kind of stress caused these aches. What did a hotel king have to worry about? If Jensen owned a hotel as nice as the Miramar Playa, he'd spend every day out by the pool, relaxing and burning freckles into his skin under the sun.

He paused in his massage to shed his boxers and climb onto the table, carefully positioned with his knees on either side of Evans' hips. He had better leverage from here. His cock thickened, dragged against the towel between them as he rocked his weight down onto Evans' back.

"A little eager, are you?" Evans asked, his voice low and amused and muffled by the crook of his arm.

"If you're up for it," Jensen replied easily. "Just letting you know I'm... appreciative."

"You don't have to tell me you're up for it. That's what I'm paying you for. But not today, okay? Today I just need you touching me."

Jensen flushed. He was glad Evans couldn't see him. "Why do you pay me, then?" he asked before he could stop himself. "If you don't want to fuck me, why do you keep calling me here?"

His fingers had stilled and he felt some of the tension settle back between Evans' shoulders. Jensen felt a little bad about that, but after all this time, he was frustrated. He needed an answer.

"You wouldn't believe me if I said you give the best massage I've ever had, would you?"

"You don't hire a hooker for a massage," Jensen replied. "I know I'm not that good."

Evans sighed. "You're... easy."

"Of course I--"

"No, Jensen. You're easy to be with."

Evans twisted. Jensen followed his lead and after some careful rearranging, Evans managed to sit up with Jensen straddling his lap. The towel had slipped aside, caught beneath Jensen's knee but no longer covering either of them; it didn't matter. Jensen barely even noticed, because Evans was taking Jensen's face in his hands and pulling him close. Jensen wondered if they would finally kiss.

Evans' fingers were gentle at the hinge of Jensen's jaw. His thumb traced the seam of Jensen's lips but didn't press inside. Evans seemed to just be studying his face, touching because he had the right to, because he _paid_ for this.

"You relax me," he whispered. He was close enough that Jensen could feel his breath. "And yes, part of it's the massage. You _are_ good at it. You're good with your hands; you're strong. But you don't ask for anything. You don't ask questions I can't answer, and you don't ask for things I can't give you. You don't make demands. And that's relaxing. That helps me."

"I'm sorry," Jensen said softly. "I should've just--"

"No, no," Evans interrupted with a slight shake of his head. His lips twisted into a sardonic sort of smile. "This is still the most relaxed I've been all week. You have no idea how good it feels to sit here with you, touch you, see you..."

Jensen broke his gaze and looked down. Evans' cock was lying against Jensen's thigh, thick and hot but not fully hard. Jensen rolled his hips slowly, deliberately, to rub against him.

"You know I don't just offer because you're paying me?" he asked. He was honestly not sure if Evans was aware of anything but the very obvious imbalance of power between them. "I get frustrated," he admitted. "It builds up and builds up between us and then... Then you just send me away and I don't see you for a week. Or longer. And it dissipates, fades away, but then I come back and it all happens again. It's like an engine that won't turn over, never starts but keeps grinding away, _trying_."

Evans touched Jensen's chin, guiding him back up so their eyes could meet. His fingers then trailed ever so slowly down Jensen's throat, over the ridge of his collarbone and down again, not quite reaching Jensen's left nipple.

"There's another reason I ask for you," Evans murmured. "For _you_ , specifically."

"What's that?"

"Because I want you. I hope you know that. I want you. Because you're so damn beautiful and I like to look at pretty things. I like to touch them and play with them. I like to own them. And I saw you, downtown, on a goddamn street corner, and I decided right then that I needed you _here_ , in _my_ place. With _me_."

"Then don't leave me wanting," Jensen protested. "If you want to own me, do it. If you want to take me..." He rolled his hips again. " _Do it _."__

__Evans pushed Jensen backwards onto the massage table and stretched over him, his dark eyes intensely focused on Jensen's, his strong, thickly muscled arms trapping Jensen on either side. Their mouths met in a wet, open kiss that felt far too long in the making._ _

__Yes, Ike Evans was paying for Jensen's services, but Jensen couldn't help but think _he_ was the one finally getting what he wanted._ _

__

___fin_._ _


End file.
